


Susceptible

by likethenight



Series: Writers' Month 2020 [9]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Illnesses, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: The twins and Estel have caught something distinctly resembling the flu while out hunting Orc with the Dúnedain. Elladan is not happy about it, Elrohir is asleep, Elrond is trying to care for them, Legolas is worried about Estel - and Erestor takes charge.Ficlet written for day 9 of Writers' Month 2020, prompt "illness"
Series: Writers' Month 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867720
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Susceptible

**Author's Note:**

> I started out attempting to work out what percentage of the twins' blood is Elven and what percentage is human, given that they're definitely not half-and-half, but then I got confused and gave up. :D

“Ada,” complained Elladan, in between sneezes, “we’re not supposed to get ill. I know our blood is not entirely Elven, but _most_ of it is.”

“And yet we are still susceptible to some of the illnesses of Men,” said Elrond calmly, passing Elladan a cup of some pungent-smelling draught and then carefully washing his hands. 

“It’s not fair,” said Elladan, sounding distinctly like a petulant Elfling, for all that he was nearly three thousand years old and a seasoned warrior who had been hunting Orc with his twin, his foster brother and the Dúnedain when this illness had begun to sweep through the whole company. Only Legolas was exempt, and he was currently sitting with Estel on the other side of the room, passing him clean handkerchiefs and holding a cup of broth so that Estel could drink from it. Elrohir, meanwhile, was fast asleep in the bed next to Elladan, exhausted from a coughing fit that had seemed to last hours.

“I know, ion-nín,” said Elrond soothingly, glancing around at his sons and deciding he was probably going to have to brew a lot more of the fever-reducing draught he had just given his eldest. The rest of the company of Dúnedain were laid up in one of the wards of the Houses of Healing, and he would have to minister to them as well. Hopefully he himself would not catch whatever this was, for just as his sons were susceptible to it, so was he.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, and he was washing his hands again, Erestor put his head round the door. 

“Would you like me to sit with them for a while?” he asked, and when Elrond hesitated, Erestor gave him his patented Look, the one he’d used on the twins when they were small (and often still found occasion to use on them now they were no longer small), and frequently had to use on Glorfindel.

“Don’t look at me like that, Erestor,” said Elrond, crossing the room to stand with his friend so that they could talk without being overheard.

“Well, don’t be stubborn, then,” said Erestor. “If the twins can catch this ailment, so can you. You are much better off making whatever medications you have devised to relieve their symptoms, and then letting me and Lindir oversee their administration, both here and in the Houses of Healing. Besides, you have healers to undertake the task, do you not?”

“I suppose so,” said Elrond. “It’s just - well, it’s been so long since the twins were ill, and Estel of course is more at risk. I don’t like to leave them, just in case -“ He kept his voice very quiet so none of the patients would hear him, but he noticed Legolas’ tiny flinch at his words, out of the corner of his eye.

“You must not put yourself at risk too,” said Erestor firmly. “I cannot catch this affliction, and nor can Lindir, but you can. So you go and brew up your potions, and Lindir and I will take it in turns to sit here - and your healers can look after the Dúnedain.”

“But -“ 

“Off you go,” said Erestor, gently manoeuvring Elrond out of the door and going to take his place between the beds currently occupied by Elladan and Elrohir. “Now, children. Who would like a story?”

“We’re not children,” protested Elladan, but he had not the energy for more, and flopped back onto his pillow with a groan, one hand on his forehead.

“Story would be nice,” murmured Elrohir sleepily, rousing at the mention of a story and suppressing a cough. “Can’t think just now, my head’s all fuzzy”

“You are all children to me,” said Erestor, “and I am very fond of all of you. Now, shall I tell you a tale of Gondolin, before it fell?”

“Mmmmm,” said Elladan, and “yes please,” coughed Elrohir. Legolas cast Erestor a grateful smile, and Estel made a noise that might have been ‘yes’ but was probably a sneeze.

“Very well,” said Erestor. “Now, I know all you ever hear about Gondolin is the tale of how it fell, but let me tell you what it was like to live there, when Turgon was King and the city was hidden.” And he wove for the invalids a tale of the glorious days of his youth, and if all three were asleep by the time he had finished, he did not take it personally. 

“Thank you,” murmured Legolas, smoothing a lock of hair out of Estel’s sleeping face, and Erestor smiled.

“You are most welcome, pen-neth,” he said. “We will see them through this, and then, perhaps, we might expect that they might wait on us a little, in return.”

That won him a grin from the Prince of the Woodland Realm, and Erestor decided that this was a job well done; he, too, had not missed the pained look that had flitted over Legolas’ face when Elrond had mentioned the risk to Estel from illnesses such as this one.

They fell to talking in soft voices, Legolas asking questions about life in Gondolin and Erestor indulgently answering them, and when Elrond looked in again with a fresh batch of the fever-reducing draught, they were deep in discussion about the relative merits of their respective hidden kingdoms, and the three patients were all still sound asleep, and hopefully well on the way to recovery.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Sindarin translations:**   
> (source: ambar-eldaron.com’s dictionary last updated October 2008): 
> 
> ada: father (informal)  
> ion-nín: my son  
> pen-neth: little one (literally: young one)


End file.
